


So This Is Love

by imaginary_golux



Series: Fractured Fairy Tales [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Romantic Fluff, this is very fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7180535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FN-2187 is the long-suffering servant to Lord Snoke and Snoke's two unpleasant wards. Rey is the charming blacksmith's apprentice. Poe is the prince whose father is throwing three great parties to find him a spouse.</p><p>Or, to quote Best Beloved: What even the fluff.</p><p>Beta by my dearest Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So This Is Love

FN-2187 wakes before the sun rises. He cleans the ashes out of the grate, builds a new fire, heats water and lugs buckets upstairs to fill the basins in the dressing rooms, heads back downstairs to wash his hands and scramble eggs and toast bread carefully over the coals, brings trays of breakfast upstairs, retreats again with the dirty dishes and the half-full buckets of cooling water to eat whatever’s left as quickly as he can and turn his hands to scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing some more. There are always floors to scrub. The Young Lords and their guardian go out for lunch and dinner - FN-2187 eats the heels of loaves of bread, whatever he can scrounge from the garden and the half-empty pantry - and at the end of the day FN-2187 hauls water again, takes boots to black and clothes to mend down to his little cubby in the kitchen, stays up long past sunset squinting in the light of the single candle he is allowed. If he fails to complete his tasks properly - well, he hasn’t failed in a long time. He learned _that_ lesson easily enough.

There used to be other servants here, clumsy Slip and humorless Nines and stubborn Zeroes, but as the years went by and the available funds dwindled the other servants were sent away, FN-2187 doesn’t know where, and now the only servants remaining are FN-2187 and the Young Lords’ bodyguard, granite-faced Phasma. The house and grounds are large enough that there really _should_ be more servants to keep them in shape, but a choice between retaining a servant and commissioning yet another set of flowing black robes for Young Lord Kylo Ren is really no choice at all: the Young Lord must have his outfits just so. So FN-2187 is the only one left.

The brightest spot in his day is always the trip to market, for just-laid eggs and fresh-baked bread to be toasted for the morrow’s breakfast, because on his way back he can usually steal a few minutes to lean against the doorway to the blacksmith’s shop and watch the young apprentice Rey at her labors. She looks up and grins at him whenever she catches him watching, teeth white in a soot-streaked face, and FN-2187 grins back. Sometimes they exchange a few words, cheerful greetings of one sort or another, brief anecdotes of their recent experiences and commiserations on various hardships; once she asked him to come in and hold something steady for her, and FN-2187 ignored the fact that he was going to be late getting home and did so. The grateful look she gave him was worth every stripe of the beating Lord Snoke decreed.

(Phasma doles out the beatings, granite face unmoved, but FN-2187 doesn’t hate her for them. He has seen _her_ come bloody and tooth-clenched from Lord Snoke’s rooms. She and FN-2187 are more alike than not.)

The only other bright spot in his day is usually weeding the vegetables, because while he’s out there he can snatch a few moments to stand in the shade of the great blue-green tree which overshadows half the garden and put a hand on its trunk. It feels warm beneath his palm, and sometimes he could almost swear its leaves whisper words of welcome as the breeze shakes them.

FN-2187 has known no other life than this. He remembers being very small indeed when he was brought into the service of the Young Lords and Lord Snoke, though he does not remember where he came from; all his memories are of this house, its stone walls and well-polished floors and the cubby beside the fireplace which has been his sleeping place for as long as he can recall. But he does know that Lord Snoke only took possession of this house twenty years ago - it comes up sometimes in conversations FN-2187 can’t help overhearing - and so presumably FN-2187 came here from somewhere else, bought and brought in when Lord Snoke realized he needed servants.

He doesn’t know why Lord Snoke kept _him_ , of all the servants, when the money began to run low. Lord Snoke seems to _hate_ FN-2187, sneers at him and kicks him whenever he sees him, and the Young Lords take their guardian’s cue and find malicious pleasure in giving FN-2187 ever more difficult and unpleasant tasks. FN-2187 manages most of them, which only angers the Young Lords more - but failing would mean a beating, and so FN-2187 grits his teeth and sets himself to do his work as well as he can, and never mind the cruel words that earns him.

FN-2187 thinks he’s twenty-three when the news comes from the palace: His Royal Highness, Prince Poe Dameron, will choose a lifemate. Everyone who wishes to be considered is to make provision to attend one or more of the three balls which will be held in two months’ time, where His Highness will make his choice.

The entire city goes into an uproar, and no household so much as Lord Snoke’s. Young Lord Kylo Ren and Young Lord Brendol Hux must have entirely new outfits, one for each of the three balls - though FN-2187, hanging Young Lord Kylo Ren’s clothing up in his closet, must confess that he can’t really tell the difference between the everyday black flowing robes and the new, fancier black flowing robes without checking the tags he’s pinned to their collars. Every detail of the upcoming event which is revealed to the public is gone over in endless conversations, until even FN-2187, who hears only snippets, knows that the Prince is young and absurdly handsome; that he is said to prefer men and women equally; that there will be eighteen kinds of cheese and forty-two kinds of wine at each night of the dance, none of which will overlap from night to night; that His Highness has no current lover; that every doorway of the grand ballroom will be outlined in glowing crystals; and half a dozen other random details which FN-2187 finds equal parts thrilling and rather silly. He honestly doesn’t care that the Prince is going to be wearing dark blue with gold edging on the first night, or that fifteen different dukes of neighboring kingdoms have sent their children to attend the balls, but it’s kind of nice to feel like he knows something about something other than how to scrub a floor.

It’s not like he’s ever going to _see_ the Prince, anyhow.

*

It seems like the days until the first ball stretch on endlessly, but finally it’s the much-anticipated night, and FN-2187 helps the Young Lords into their finery, polishes their glossy boots to a shine he can see his face in and holds out their cloaks so they can shrug into them with ease, and watches the Young Lords and Lord Snoke and granite-faced Phasma head off in their rented carriage.

Then he sits down on the front step with a great sigh of relief. He has been working harder than ever these last few weeks, trying to keep up with the endless impossible demands from the Young Lords - seriously, there is no way for FN-2187 to acquire the milk of virgin cows for Young Lord Hux to bathe in, it’s just not _possible_ , any more than ensuring that the sheep that gave the wool for Young Lord Kylo Ren’s cloak were immediately slaughtered so that no one else would ever have wool from the same source - and FN-2187 is honestly just glad to have a chance to sit _down_ for a while. In a bit he’ll have to get up and go tidy the house and make himself something for dinner, but for right now - blessed immobility.

He’s distracted from his basking by a clattering of hooves just outside the wall, and then the gate creaks open just a little ways and Rey comes slinking in through the gap. She’s wearing a dress unlike anything FN-2187 has ever seen before, something sleek and green that makes her look like a goddess, and she beams when she sees him and comes hurrying up the path, her shoes clicking gently on the flagstones.

“The most wonderful thing happened,” she tells him, clasping his hands in hers. “I was wishing that I could go to the ball - I want to see the glowing crystals, and the eighteen kinds of cheese, and the filigree gates to the castle - and this old man came and told me he could get me in, could give me a dress and a carriage and everything! And then I thought, maybe my friend would like to come with me, and I asked the old man - he says he’s my fairy godfather - and he said if I was sure, I could invite you, and - oh, please, you’re the best friend I have in this whole city, won’t you come to the Prince’s ball with me?”

“I -” says FN-2187, and gestures at his threadbare, workstained clothes. “I’d just disgrace you.”

“The old man - my fairy godfather - I told him where you lived, and he said - he said - oh, just follow me!” Rey says, and tugs FN-2187 around the side of the house to stand under the great blue-green tree which FN-2187 so loves. “He said your tree is _magic_ ,” she tells him eagerly, “and if you ask for what you need, it’ll help you!”

FN-2187 blinks at her in astonishment, and then he puts one hand on the ever-warm trunk of the tree and says, softly, “Tree, please give me something to wear to the Prince’s ball.”

The tree’s branches shake, though there is no breeze to speak of, and out of its leaves falls an outfit as fine as any that FN-2187 has ever seen the Young Lords wear. It’s a deep blue color as lovely as the sky after the sun sets but before the stars come out, and it’s cut to fit FN-2187 _perfectly_.

“Put it on,” Rey urges, grinning, and FN-2187 grins back at her and retreats into the kitchen to scrub the soot and dirt off his skin and slide into the beautiful blue suit - though not before he pats the tree and murmurs his heartfelt thanks.

Rey looks him over approvingly when he emerges, and FN-2187, in a fit of whimsy, offers her his arm as he’s seen the Young Lords practicing. She takes it with an impish grin, and they hurry together to the carriage, which rattles its way up through the streets to the palace with almost unseemly haste.

They’re not the last to arrive, though they’re near the end of the line, and they manage to dodge the footman who is announcing the important guests and slip in unnoticed. FN-2187 can’t help gaping at the promised glowing-crystal doorways, the tables groaning with food and drink, the beautifully dressed people vying for the Prince’s attention as they dance and mingle and flirt. And up at the head of the room -

“Wow,” Rey murmurs. “He actually _is_ that handsome.”

“He looks...stressed,” FN-2187 whispers back, and honestly he can’t blame the Prince. The press of people all _wanting_ something is kind of dizzying even for FN-2187, here at the edge of the crowd; for the Prince, in the center of it all, surrounded by greedy eyes, it must be even worse. “Oh, kriff,” FN-2187 adds softly. “There _they_ are.”

“The Young Lords?” Rey asks. She’d picked up his term for them years ago, uses it with a sneer that FN-2187 wishes he could imitate. And sure enough, the Young Lords are bowing before the prince, Hux’s bright hair like a beacon, Kylo Ren like Hux’s brooding shadow. They’re saying something, though of course FN-2187 can’t hear them from here, and the Prince answers them, but FN-2187 thinks he sees distaste in the Prince’s calm expression. Well, good: the Prince has sense.

He puts it out of his mind. He’s here to enjoy the ball, not to worry about His Highness. “Dance with me?” he asks Rey, and she grins and puts a hand in his, follows him onto the floor. Neither of them really knows what they’re doing, but they’re not the only ones with no formal training; it seems like half the kingdom has turned out for this opportunity, and many of them dance with even less grace than Rey and FN-2187.

They dance till they’re panting with exertion, and then Rey leads a daring raid on the buffet tables which ends with both of them holding obscenely full plates, and FN-2187 leads the way out onto a little balcony where they can sit on a bench with the plates on their knees and watch the dancing and grin at each other. The food is _wonderful_ , of course, and Rey has managed to get samples of all eighteen kinds of cheese.

She’s teasing FN-2187 by holding a bite of what he’s discovered is his absolute favorite kind of cheese in the whole world just out of his reach, so he’s flailing and trying not spill his plate, when a voice full of amusement says, “May I join you?”

They both whirl around to find the Prince himself in the doorway. FN-2187 gulps and tries to struggle to his feet, to bow or kneel or something, but the Prince laughs, a low sweet sound, and pats FN-2187 on the shoulder. “No, no, don’t get up,” he says cheerfully, and Rey scoots over on the bench so there’s room between them. The Prince settles into the gap with a broad grin.

“Thank you,” he says. He’s even prettier up close. “You looked like you were having fun, and it was getting _dreadfully_ stuffy in there.”

“It’s a beautiful party, Your Highness,” FN-2187 says, hoping it’s the right thing to say.

“Yeah?” the Prince asks, grinning at him. “Saw you two on the dance floor - you looked good.”

“Thank you,” Rey says, sounding smug.

The Prince leans back against the railing with a sigh. “Honestly, you looked like some of the only people here who were really _enjoying_ yourselves. Everyone else is here to - try their luck.”

“Are you so sure we aren’t?” FN-2187 surprises himself by teasing. “Maybe we thought lurking on an unlit balcony and laughing about cheese was the best way to attract attention.”

“Well, you were right,” the Prince laughs, and oh, he’s beautiful when he laughs. FN-2187 looks across at Rey and sees her coming to the same conclusion. “Very cunning of you both. What’s your favorite cheese so far?”

“I don’t know the names,” FN-2187 admits, “but that one with the blue in it that she’s not letting me have, that’s really good.”

“The mozzarella,” Rey sighs. “With the balsamic and the tiny tomatoes.”

The Prince laughs again, but it’s a kind sound, gentle almost. “Glad you’ve found favorites,” he says cheerfully. “Me, I like the sharp white one, with some apple and a dab of honey.”

“Mmm, that does sound good,” says Rey dreamily, and FN-2187 finds himself trading a fond smile with the Prince at Rey’s tone.

A uniformed guard pokes her head through the doorway, says, “Highness, your father is looking for you,” and the Prince sighs, pulls himself to his feet and smiles down at Rey and FN-2187.

“Thank you for letting me join you.”

“Our pleasure,” says Rey softly, and FN-2187 nods, throat dry. Then the Prince is gone, and Rey and FN-2187 look at each other in shock and dismay.

“Kriff, he’s _beautiful_ ,” Rey says.

“I didn’t actually come here to fall in love with the Prince,” FN-2187 agrees mournfully. “He’s going to choose some duke’s son or daughter anyway.”

“Here,” Rey says, handing FN-2187 the blue-streaked cheese, and they finish their plates in companionable silence, watching the Prince dance with noble after noble, his handsome face calm and set and nothing like as animated as it was for the few scant minutes he sat between them.

*

They make their escape when the clock strikes midnight, well before the dance is done, because Rey has to get up early and make nails, and FN-2187 still has cleaning to do. FN-2187 does pause briefly to look back at the milling crowds, but he’s fairly sure it’s wishful thinking to believe he sees the Prince looking around as though searching for something - or someone - and hope that maybe the Prince is looking for them.

But surely His Highness has met someone far more interesting than Rey and FN-2187. After all, the cream of every noble court in seven kingdoms is here.

FN-2187 returns his beautiful blue suit to the tree, laying it over a low branch and trying not to be too disconcerted when it vanishes, and then spends three more hours tidying up the mess the Young Lords left behind and waiting with grim patience for their return. The Young Lords come back so late the sky is beginning to turn white with dawn, snarling and snapping at each other over the fact that the Prince did not appear to prefer _either_ of them - to each other or to anyone else at the ball - and only deigned to share a few words with them, simple platitudes of greeting. FN-2187, hanging their clothing up and laying out their nightclothes, bites his lip so as not to smirk at the thought that _he_ got more than that: _he_ knows what the Prince’s favorite cheese is, and that he smiles small and sweet when he really means it, and that he has a beautiful laugh.

Young Lord Hux throws a shoe at FN-2187 before he heads to bed, but FN-2187 really can’t bring himself to care.

The next day he manages to get some sleep while the Young Lords are still abed, and then spends the entire afternoon helping them into their next set of finery, running back and forth for shoes and ties and handkerchiefs as they discard one set of accessories after another. FN-2187 is pretty much exhausted by the time they leave, and Phasma actually gives him what certainly appears to be a sympathetic look as she taps the reins on the hired horses’ backs and sends the carriage rolling on up the street.

But FN-2187 is not exhausted enough to stay home, if Rey does show up again, so he tidies the ground floor desultorily for a little while, bathes in cold water that wakes him up a little, and when Rey gets there they go out together to ask the tree for another boon.

Tonight’s suit is red as the coals of the fire, and Rey’s dress is silver-grey like stars; FN-2187 thinks they look pretty fine together, really. They manage to sneak in again, gather plates of good things and hide on the same balcony - FN-2187 is too tired to dance tonight. Rey leans on his shoulder as they watch the crowds, humming in pleasure at the new kinds of cheese, and FN-2187 eats the slices of fresh fruit she hands him and basks in the comfort of her head on his shoulder, good food and better company.

The Prince shows up after a few hours - both their plates are empty, hidden beneath the bench so they don’t have to worry about breaking them - and this time FN-2187, who was half-expecting this, manages to actually stand and bow. Rey curtsies beside him. The Prince smiles at them.

“No need for formality, please,” he says, and sits in the center of the bench, beckoning them to join him. FN-2187 does, getting a sort of guilty thrill out of the warmth of the Prince’s thigh against his. “I get enough of that in _there_.”

“You looked like you were having fun dancing,” FN-2187 says. It’s true: the Prince has been whirling about on the dance floor with a new partner for every set, elegant and graceful and beautiful as the dawn.

“I like dancing,” the Prince admits, smiling at FN-2187 and lounging back against the railing, his perfect posture discarded for this beautiful sprawl. “It’s - when you get it just right, it feels a little like flying.”

“Oh,” says Rey, soft and wondering. “I’ve always wanted to fly.”

The Prince grins, uncoils to his feet and offers her a hand. “Balcony’s big enough,” he says cheerfully, and Rey takes his hand and sways unselfconsciously into his arms, lets him steer her through the steps of the dance, leans into his hands and beams up at him, all shining stars and glory. FN-2187 watches with a dry mouth, not sure which of them he wants to touch - which of them he wants to _be_. They’re both so beautiful.

The Prince spins Rey out and she tumbles laughing into FN-2187’s lap; he catches her and grins down at her, up at the Prince, and the Prince laughs at them both and sits down beside FN-2187 with a happy sigh. “See what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Rey says, leaning her head against FN-2187’s shoulder. “It _is_ a little like flying.”

The Prince looks them over, Rey in her shining silver dress curled comfortably in FN-2187’s lap, and asks curiously, “So, how long have you been engaged?”

FN-2187 startles, almost dislodging Rey, and catches her when she squeaks. “Oh,” he says, “we’re - we’re not engaged. We’re friends.” He shrugs. “I don’t think I’m allowed to marry, actually.”

The Prince raises an eyebrow. “Not _allowed_?”

FN-2187 is trying to find the right words to explain to the Prince that he’s an indentured servant who’s escaped for the evening when the same guard as last night pokes her head out onto the balcony and shrugs apologetically. “Break time’s over, Highness,” she says ruefully. “Your father noticed you were gone.”

“Damn,” the Prince says, standing with a grimace. “I - I hope you’ll be here again tomorrow?”

Rey and FN-2187 look at each other. “If we possibly can, we will,” FN-2187 promises.

“I’ll make sure of it,” Rey adds.

*

The Young Lords are in an even worse snit when they get home, because the Prince up and _vanished_ right when they were _sure_ they were going to get their dances. Lord Snoke snarls at both of them for failing to be charming enough to win the Prince over with a scant few words. FN-2187 bites the inside of his lip and thinks about the way the Prince smiled when he talked about dancing like he’s flying, the way he twirled Rey so beautifully across the balcony floor, the way he sprawled across the bench and looked at ease for a few brief minutes before the demands of his party swallowed him again.

Even once the Prince has chosen his proper noble bride or groom, FN-2187 will have the memory of his smile to cherish forever. And - and maybe, if he can ever get away from Lord Snoke, once Rey has her mastery and can open her own smithy, maybe FN-2187 _could_ marry her, if she’d have him. He knows how to keep house, after all; he could look after all the domestic things while she made horseshoes and nails and swords. It’s an appealing little dream.

That evening Rey’s dress is black, but the base fabric can hardly be seen for the embroidered flowers in a deep and beautiful shade of purple. To FN-2187’s amusement, the suit the tree provides him is purple with black accents, and they match gloriously. They find their balcony again, and FN-2187 grabs a little spare plate of sharp cheese and apples and honey, sets it aside while they devour the array of good things that they have chosen. Rey gives FN-2187 an approving nod.

The Prince doesn’t make it out onto the balcony until half an hour til midnight. FN-2187 is starting to get twitchy: he needs to get home relatively early, to clean up before the Young Lords and Lord Snoke get home, and midnight is really as late as he can push it. But the Prince _does_ come sneaking out onto the balcony, collapses on the bench between them when they scoot apart to make room, and makes a noise of utter delight when FN-2187 hands him the plate.

“You remembered,” he says, grinning broadly, and proceeds to devour the whole plate in less time than it took FN-2187 to make it. “I never get to eat at these things - too many people to talk to - and I’ve been hungry for _hours_ ,” the Prince says as he finishes the last chunk of cheese, licks honey from his fingers. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” FN-2187 says, trading a glance of helpless lust with Rey: the Prince licking his fingers is a _dreadfully_ appealing sight.

“So, have you made your choice?” Rey asks after a moment of comfortable silence as they all watch the crowds of brightly-caparisoned people milling about inside the ballroom.

“Almost,” the Prince says. “Have to talk my Da around.”

FN-2187 blinks at him. “I thought - I thought you could choose anyone. You’re the _Prince_. And that was the point of these balls!”

“Yeah, but - it’s sort of complicated,” the Prince says, grinning. “But I think he’ll let me do what I want, when it comes down to it. He _does_ want me to be happy.”

“That’s good,” Rey says, soft and a little sad. “It’s - I’m glad your father loves you that much.”

FN-2187 nods. “You should be happy,” he agrees. “All the time.”

“Damn, you two are such sweethearts,” the Prince says, voice full of wonder. “Do you know, I don’t think anyone else here - well, anyone else here for the _ball_ \- gives a good godsdamn about my happiness?”

FN-2187 grimaces. “I - yeah,” he admits. “I can believe that. But you _should_ be happy. I hope whoever you pick is really wonderful.”

Rey glances over her shoulder at the clocktower down in town and hisses between her teeth. “We’ve got to get you home,” she tells FN-2187. “I’m sorry, Highness, but -”

“Wait,” the Prince says, almost desperately. “Tell me your names.”

“Rey,” says Rey. “Rey Smith.”

“FN-2187,” says FN-2187, and blinks at the indrawn hiss of breath which is the Prince’s reaction.

“I can’t call you that,” says the Prince, as Rey begins to pull FN-2187 gently away. “Can I call you Finn?”

“Finn?” FN-2187 says softly. “Finn. I like that, Highness. Yes.”

“Finn. Rey,” the Prince says, and then the clock strikes midnight, and they have to run.

*

The Young Lords get back very late and full of spite and news: the Prince did not pick _anyone_ , but only announced that his choice would be revealed in good time. The Young Lords spend a good hour sniping at each other about how Hux is too full of bile, Kylo Ren too arrogant, to be the Prince’s choice, and FN-2187 - no, _Finn_ , now and forever, his own name given to him by the Prince himself - listens wearily and thinks longingly of his little pallet bed.

He finally does get to bed, far too late, knowing that he’s only going to get a few hours of sleep, and sure enough he’s bleary-eyed and exhausted the next day as he stumbles down the road to for his daily shopping. But he does find time to stop by Rey’s smithy and lean in the doorway. She looks slightly less wiped than he is - well, she probably got to go to bed as soon as she got home - and she’s humming a dancing tune as she hammers out a horseshoe, sparks flying in time with the beat. She glances up and sees him in the doorway, grins wide and sweet and mischievous.

“Finn,” she says, softly, and Finn gulps at the sound of his name on her lips. “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” Finn asks curiously.

“The Prince is looking for his chosen person in _town_ ,” she says eagerly. “Maybe it’s someone we know!”

Finn has a moment of undignified hope - maybe, just maybe, it’s _him_ \- but that’s ridiculous. It could be Rey, though. The Prince danced with her, and smiled at her, and seemed happy that she wasn’t engaged to Finn. Rey would make a good princess. If Rey is the Prince’s choice, the Prince has very good taste indeed.

“You’ll have to tell me more tomorrow,” he tells Rey, and goes on up the hill to Lord Snoke’s house, back to the endless rounds of drudgery. The balls were fun - he’ll never forget them, will cherish every moment that he spent in the Prince’s company, will remember every taste of wonderful food and every note of beautiful music and the feel of Rey in his arms, the Prince beside him on the bench - but that’s over now. Now he’s just...just a kitchen drudge again.

But at least he had three nights of glory.

The day drags on as he scrubs floors and runs errands and tries to keep his weary eyes open. Phasma actually gives him a sympathetic look and a mug of water at one point, which may be the kindest thing she’s ever done for him - he must look _awful_.

And then there’s a commotion at the gate. Phasma strides over to open it, and stops in shock, more emotion than Finn has ever seen before on her granite-calm face. “Open in the Prince’s name,” the uniformed woman on the other side of the gate commands, and Phasma does, while Finn scrambles to his feet and goes running for Lord Snoke and the Young Lords.

Lord Snoke looks as pleased as Finn has ever seen him. The Young Lords actually stop bickering long enough to check each other’s appearances and then proceed downstairs as elegantly as they know how. Lord Snoke pauses and glares at Finn before he follows them. “You - in the kitchens,” he commands, and Finn nods and hurries down the back stairs before Lord Snoke can throw something at him.

He does lurk as near the kitchen door as he can, though, keeping his ears pricked for anything he can hear. At first it’s all indistinct murmurs, and then Lord Snoke’s voice, raised as it so rarely is: “No, I have no other ward!”

Finn blinks at the wall in confusion. The Young Lords are babbling over each other, Hux’s usual sleek tones almost frantic, Kylo Ren’s arrogance turned into something like panic, and then there are footsteps, loud on the polished floor, clack-clack-clack to the kitchen stairs. Finn stands there in bemusement, too confused either to run or to open the door, until it swings open in front of him and there’s -

There’s the Prince, smiling like a sunrise.

“ _There_ you are, Finn,” he says softly, and holds out a hand. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“For _me_?” Finn asks incredulously, but he takes the Prince’s hand - he can’t help it. “But what about Rey?”

“I will explain everything, I promise,” the Prince says quietly. “But - will you come with me? Will you be mine?”

“Of course,” Finn says, dazed and smiling wide enough it actually hurts, follows the Prince up the stairs and past the red-faced furious Young Lords and the grey-faced murderous Lord Snoke, out of the house and down the path and into a carriage where - where Rey is waiting, twisting her hands in her lap. She yelps in joy when she sees Finn, pulls him into a tight hug, and the Prince sits down across from them with a wide, indulgent smile as the carriage moves on up the hill.

“So,” the Prince says, when Finn gives him a curious look, “I had to ask my father if he’d let me marry _two_ people, because I honestly couldn’t choose between you. Is that alright with both of you - being married to me and to each other?”

“Of course,” Rey says instantly. Finn just nods - he can’t find words. “Did you even have to ask, Your Highness?” she adds.

“I really did,” the Prince says, smiling brightly. “And - my name is Poe. If anyone should be able to use it, it’s the two of you.”

“Poe,” Finn says, marveling. Poe’s cheeks go pink with pleasure.

“Poe,” says Rey, smiling at both of them. “Finn.” And she snuggles up against Finn’s side, and Poe takes Finn’s free hand in both of his, and Finn sits there in perfect happiness, utterly content.

In a few minutes they’ll reach the palace and then Finn is sure he will have to deal with all sorts of unpleasantness regarding his social status and the unusual idea of a triad marriage and the duties of being a prince’s husband, but for right now - for right now, there is nothing in the world which could make Finn happier.

He’s right where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a tumblr over at imaginarygolux.tumblr.com, and if anyone wants to come give me plotbunnies for *other* fairy tales I could butcher in like manner, or anything else for that matter, do feel free!


End file.
